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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25602367">guess I'll just steal your heart instead</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicaltwine/pseuds/whimsicaltwine'>whimsicaltwine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is Extra, M/M, Midevil-ish setting, Prince Logic | Logan Sanders, Roman is a flirt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:35:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,833</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25602367</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicaltwine/pseuds/whimsicaltwine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman is a theif, and a good one at that.  After spending most of his life under Virgil's wing, he's gotten quite good at what he does, but the other thing that comes with having Virgil as a mentor is a ridiculous amount of caution, and Roman's getting tired of it.  </p><p>So when Roman tries to rob the castle, he's expecting gold and jewels.  He ends up finding something even better.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>guess I'll just steal your heart instead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Constructive criticism welcome - tell me what I did well and what I can improve on!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wedging the toe of his boot into the crack between two stones, Roman reaches up above his head to search for a handhold with raw fingers, chalky from gripping the stones on the outside of the castle.  Under the cover of night, it’s harder to see the best way to keep climbing, so he has to rely mostly on touch, at least when it comes to his feet; he moves his left foot, shifts his weight to test his purchase, and when he doesn’t slip, continues on.  It all happens in just a few seconds.  Thieves that can’t move fast are thieves that get caught, and Roman is not getting caught tonight, not when he’s put his life on the line.</p><p>Virgil would have his head for this.  Roman can just imagine him now, dragging his body from the executioner’s graveyard and fixing his head back on his shoulders just so he can yell at him in that tense tone of his before decapitating him himself.  And he’ll still kill him if he makes it back alive, but then he won’t have just an angry Virgil, but a fortune to last a lifetime, which makes it all worth it.  </p><p>Finally, Roman reaches a windowsill, and pauses to wait below it, listening.  </p><p>Silence.</p><p>With a grin, Roman reaches up, curls his fingers over the top of the windowsill, and in one smooth movement, mounts it like a cat, pushing with his feet and pulling with his arms so that he lands with no noise save the shifting of his dark clothes and the light tap of his feet on the smooth stone.  <i> Perfect, </i> he thinks, looking down over all the obstacles he’s overcome.  The green of the castle’s decorative garden is cool and dark under the night sky, which paints the stones in the wall a purple-blue color, as if the night air itself carries a tone of blue that tints everything in sight.  It’s a beautiful view.  In another life, Roman might be able to walk and read in those gardens every day, but he shakes off the fantasy.  He’s got a job to do.</p><p>Shuffling to the edge of the windowsill so that he’s shielded from view, Roman slowly, slowly peeks out into the room and curses under his breath.</p><p>There are bars on this window.  He came all this way to find a place where he wouldn’t be noticed right away, getting through the outer wall and into the gardens and right to the exterior of the palace, only to be brought to an abrupt halt by four measly pieces of metal.  Despite himself, Roman growls.</p><p>“You seem a bit disappointed to find that you aren’t the first person who’s tried to kidnap me,” a voice says, and Roman whirls around faster than he can think to drop beneath the windowsill and vanish only to be greeted with an empty room.  His heart is beating double time, sending a wave of panic and speed and tension through his body, and it’s like this, with his pulse roaring in his ears and his breath coming in short little bursts, that he sees the most handsome man he has ever laid eyes on step into his line of sight.</p><p>	If these are his last few moments of freedom, he’ll at least have the comfort of knowing he spent them well.  Gazing at the man’s sharp and angular face, his absolutely lethal cheekbones, his dark hair with its curls that catch the light as he turns, Roman cannot help but drive thoughts of escape into the back of his mind in favor of crouching there, admiring the beauty that the universe has placed before him.  </p><p>And so, even with his body still seized by fear, Roman gives his best, most charming smile, tilts his head in that way that always makes boys and girls alike go crazy for him, and says, “Hello.  You know, I came here looking for a different kind of treasure, but,” he pauses, letting the stranger absorb his gaze, “if I’d known this castle was hiding anything half as valuable as you, I’d have come months ago.”  <i> Score, </i> Roman thinks, waiting for a shy or flattered smile to break out across that wonderful face, but it never happens.  He doesn’t even move.  Instead, Roman is met with a gaze full of so much judgement, annoyance, and pity that it takes him a moment to even register it.  The stranger gives him one, slow blink, as if to say, <i> “are you done?” </i> and then begins to speak.</p><p>“I will not report your presence here, provided you leave immediately and promptly.  It would be wise of you to do so,” he says, already turning back to the book in his hands before Roman has a chance to respond or even move.  Rude.  </p><p>Shaking off the loss, Roman opens his mouth, because even if he can’t convince this man to keep talking to him, at the very least he’ll be able to look at him for just a few more precious seconds.  “But we’ve only just met,” Roman exists, drawing that gaze again, and oh, his eyes are so <i> blue. </i></p><p>“I believe I have already informed you that I will call the guards.”</p><p>“But-”</p><p>“Phillip?” the stranger says, raising his voice a bit as he walks over to the door with measured steps, and with that, fear jolts back into the forefront of Roman’s mind as he throws himself back over the windowsill, scrambling for a foothold on the wall, and starts climbing down with the kind of speed he’s usually only able to reach when his brother is after him.</p><p> </p><p>xxxxxx </p><p> </p><p>	“He was the most handsome man who has ever graced the face of this earth, Remus,” Roman whines, letting his head fall to his brother’s bed.  </p><p>	Remus, who is sprawled all over his bed like an untrimmed plant, does not understand.  “Just pick up some other guy for the night and imagine it’s him.  It’s not like you saw what was under those fancy clothes of his, so it wouldn’t even be hard,” he says, earning a strangled groan from Roman, who doesn’t have the strength to pull himself up off the ground where he kneels by Remus’ bed, held down by the immeasurable weight of his broken heart.  Oh, what a tragedy, to be so alone in this, unable to discuss his woes with passers-by because he was trying to steal, and unable to discuss his woes with Virgil because he was trying to steal from the castle, leaving him with no option but his brother, who will not offer him the comfort he needs.  Roman has fallen in love only to have his dreams crushed beneath the cruel boot of fate.  He lets out another anguished noise.</p><p>	As if reading his mind, Remus turns so he’s laying on his stomach, reaching out to swat at Roman’s hair.  “Get over yourself already,” he says, turning to look at him, “you only talked to him for what, thirty seconds?  It’s not like you’re in love with him, dumbass, so he might as well be a random hooker or something.  I’m telling you, there are plenty of guys out there who--”</p><p>	“Shut up!” Roman cries, snapping up like a wire has been tripped and darting out a hand to sloppily smack his brother in the face.  It ends up being more of a full-hand flick, but it gets him to stop, even if it’s just so he can cackle.  Yeah, he’s kind of right, but he isn’t helping, and so Roman just lets out a heavy sigh, his body drooping even further as he does so.  “I have to see him again,” he says, the words coming soft and quiet yet heavy with resolve.  </p><p>	Remus grins.  “Sure, go ahead.  I’ll steal some of your teeth from the morgue when they’re done with you so I can make a necklace to remember you by.”</p><p>	“Oh, screw you,” Roman spits, pushing himself up off the ground with a huff.  “If Virgil comes back tonight, cover for me, okay?”  With that, he snatches his belt from the nightstand and shoves his arms into his black jacket, smoothing the carefully embroidered collar as he goes, and ducks out the door, fading into the shadows for the second time in as many nights.  </p><p>	Out here, on the edge of the city, dirt and gravel roads are just as common as cobblestone ones, and every one of them is empty, save for the occasional dog curled up on a doorstep.  There’s no reason to be quiet, here, but habit has him cushioning his footfalls and never shifting before he lifts his foot back up again so that his trek into the inner city is near silent, almost like Virgil, who can move with nothing but the hint of a whisper making its way out into the air around him.</p><p>It isn’t long until he gets closer and catches sight of the castle, the stone turrets rising above the precise square buildings of the city center, looming giants on the horizon that keep watch over everything in their domain.  They are framed by a curtain of stars.  Raising his face up to greet them, Roman takes a deep breath and takes his first step into truly dangerous territory, just as he had last night.  Quickly scaling the wall of the gardens, he drops to the ground with a roll which puts him right behind a flowery bush.  He stays there for a moment to listen.</p><p>Just as he starts to move on to the next hidden corner, though, a rosebush catches his eye, the full, vibrant flowers calling to him from each of their stems, and on a split-second decision, he pulls his knife from his boot, looks around to make sure it’s safe to move, and rolls across the way, his hand already up by the time he comes to a stop just in front of the bush.  Reaching in through the thorns, which scrape at his sleeves, he holds his breath while the bush rustles from the movement.  He doesn’t look at his prize.  Instead, tucking it between his teeth to free up his hands, he slips his knife back into his boot and turns his focus back to his chosen path across the gardens.</p><p>He can just imagine it now.  He’ll catch the boy’s attention, and then, with movements as graceful as a swan, he’ll produce the rose from behind his back and offer it to him through the bars on the window.  The beautiful stranger will blush and then those eyes will meet his and - Roman is at the castle itself.</p><p>The climb seems so much shorter, now that he knows what’s waiting for him, and so it’s in no time at all that he finds himself pulling his body up onto the windowsill, his heart beating eagerly in his chest and a grin sneaking its way onto his face without his direction.  Even at this late hour, there is a candle burning in his stranger’s room.  Roman peers inside.</p><p>Clothed in a midnight blue coat with a high collar that scrapes his jaw when he turns to dip his pen in his inkwell, he looks like dignity incarnate, the candlelight painting his sharp features with dramatic shadows that make them stand out all the more, that make him look like a creature of myth, a trickster fae come to steal people away from their homes with his impossible, mesmerizing beauty.  He sits straight and tall.  The only part of him which isn’t neat and trimmed is his curly hair, which makes Roman adjust his own hair self-consciously. </p><p>Roman doesn’t have a plan, but that’s okay.  He’s never needed one, not when it comes to romance.  Reaching forward with the delicate touch of a thief, he places the rose just in front of him, with the long stem running parallel to the window, and moves out of sight.</p><p>He waits.  The sound of writing sneaks its way to his ears.  He waits.  He traces the seam on the side of his shoe, his head and his heart and his limbs all full of buzzing that races under his skin like fire spreading over a dry field.  Unable to help himself, he leans forward to peek through the window.  The boy inside has not so much as moved.</p><p>This isn’t going to work.</p><p>With a hard sigh, Roman takes a deep breath, steels his determination, and begins to sing.</p><p>Virgil has never been one for romance.  At eleven, the tail end of their lullaby years, Roman and Remus had listened to him sing sad, broken ballads of travelers who never found the fulfillment they were looking for, folk tunes warning of the world’s dangers, or soft (and censored) versions of songs overheard from outside taverns.  For love songs, Roman has to reach back farther, to a wavering memory of being tucked into bed by his mother.</p><p>He starts softly, letting each word roll off his tongue and drift gently in the night air and watching as his stranger stills, his hand freezing above the paper.  He smiles; it’s working.  <i> “No mountains, no armies can keep me at bay,” </i> he continues, daring to be a little bit louder, a little bit stronger, imagining himself a magnet pulling the boy to him, and then, in between phrases, he turns his gaze from the stars above him back to the windowsill just in time to catch a pale, delicate hand poised just over his rose right as Roman comes to the end of a verse.  It’s perfect.  With a grin, Roman lets the last notes of his song fade away and leans over to peek in through the window.</p><p>Immediately snapping back like he’s been bitten, leaving the rose there on the windowsill, the boy narrows his eyes as he straightens his shoulders and hardens his face.  “You are trespassing,” he intones.  A beat.  “Again.”</p><p>“How could I do anything else, when faced with the prospect of never seeing your face again,” Roman says, which earns him only a deep sigh, but he’s not giving up yet.  “Can I at least get your name?”</p><p>The boy pauses for a moment, considering him, and oh, it feels as if he’s being held down by the weight of all the universe, being under that intense gaze.  Finally, finally, he shifts, adjusting his glasses, and says, “Logan.”</p><p>
  <i> Score. </i>
</p><p>“Well, Logan,” - the way those syllables wrap around Roman’s tongue is art in its purest form - “I am Roman, and it is an indescribable pleasure to meet you formally.”</p><p>Too distracted by the way Logan raises just one eyebrow, Roman misses when he parrots, “formally,” in a flat tone and charges right on, sweeping the forgotten rose up off the windowsill and, with a flourish worthy of a magician, offering it to him.  They must make such a scene, Logan looking out of the window, Roman crouched there with a gift and a lovestruck look in his eyes.</p><p>Finally, Logan falters, blinking, and when he reaches forward to take the rose, it’s with slow, slow movements, as if he’s afraid to shatter the moment.  He hesitates for a moment before taking it, but then his fingers wrap around the stem, careful to avoid the thorns, and he pulls it through the bars in the window and into the room, where he delicately strokes one of the plush red petals.  “I suppose I ought to thank you,” he says, “no matter how… unconventional your methods may be.”  </p><p>Roman chuckles.  “Might I ask what was so magnificent to have the attention of a man such as yourself?”  Turning his head away, Logan gives the barest hint of a shrug, more a twitch of one shoulder than anything, and looks off into the distance as he continues to absent-mindedly play with the petals of the rose.</p><p>“Just work,” he replies.  Roman leans forward, puts his face closer to the window.</p><p>“Oh?”  Challenge sneaks into the air between them, filling it with a sprinkle of tension, only to snap when Logan abruptly turns his gaze back to Roman with a movement like a hawk locking onto its prey.</p><p>With a sigh and the beginnings of a smile creeping across his face, he concedes, “Well, I suppose it might be appropriate to discuss some of the personal study I was doing earlier.”  By now, he’s grinning in full, a bright little spark in his eyes.  “Roman, do you happen to have an interest in astronomy?”</p><p> </p><p>xxxxxx</p><p> </p><p>	“So, with one mighty throw, he sent his sword sailing across the battlefield, where it landed right at the feet of Lady Aliabe.  With that sign of surrender, the battle ended, and the land was saved,” Roman finishes, spreading his hands out in front of him for emphasis.  Logan snorts.	</p><p>	“Considering the amount of soldiers involved and the size of the battleground you described, it would be physically impossible to throw a sword that far, not to mention that the odds of the rest of the morally corrupt army accepting his surrender are slim to none,” he says, twirling his fork around in his hand.  From where he lounges with his back pressed to one side of the window and his feet up on the other, Roman has a perfect view of the way he raises one eyebrow and gives Roman a teasing look that makes his insides go all tingly.  For once, Logan has foregone his usually neat, careful styling and let his unruly curls spill over his head not unlike an overgrown plant.  Personally, Roman thinks he looks much prettier this way.  Trying to tie back that hair is just a crime.</p><p>	Logan picks another piece of fruit off his plate as Roman responds, “Leave it to you to tear apart a beautiful story.”  Letting more joking dramatics leak into his voice, he continues, “Have you no appreciation for art?”  Logan winces at the shrieky tone it takes on, but rolls his eyes all the same. </p><p>	“I have an appreciation for art that employs realism.  Most of the portraits in the castle, for example, are incredibly true to life.”</p><p>	“But that’s boring,” Roman moans, letting his shoulders slip farther down so that he’s slumped awkwardly against the bottom of the windowframe, folded up like laundry stuffed in the bottom of a drawer to be forgotten.  Logan gives a little huff.</p><p>	“It’s only boring if you have no taste,” he snipes, but he says it with a smile that reminds Roman of mischievous plans and warm sunlight filtering through a forest canopy, the kind that makes Roman grin like he’s stupid in love.  Logan shifts in his seat, pokes at his fancy castle food with his fork.  “Would you like to try some?”<br/>
Roman has never sat up faster in his life.  “What do you mean, would I, a simple peasant boy --”</p><p>	“Simple peasant boys don’t typically scale castle walls, Roman--”</p><p>	“--like to try some?  Of <i> course </i> I want your food, Logan.  Besides, it’s the closest we can get to a dinner date, after all, candlelit and everything.”  Logan, who is already finished cutting off a small cube of what looks to be a little cake, tilts his head.</p><p>	“I suppose that’s true,” he offers.  There’s a pause, before he shakes his head, as if dislodging the topic, and picks the little piece of cake up off his plate with his delicate fingers, so different from Roman’s calloused ones.  When he reaches through the bars to offer it to Roman, it’s with little fanfare, but to Roman, it’s like the world has fallen quiet around them and the moonlight has strayed from its path to swath the moment in the dramatic lighting of portraits.  The heavens still to frame them there, in that moment that Logan finally reaches through the barrier, and somewhere between the swelling crescendo in Roman’s chest and the awe and excitement filling his mind an idea springs to life.  Logan holds out the piece of cake for him to take, but instead of reaching out to grab it, Roman takes a breath, leans forward, and uses his teeth to pluck it directly from Logan’s hand.</p><p>	Logan’s eyes widen behind the frames of his glasses.  He completely captivates Roman, sitting there with that shocked expression on his face, his dark and curly hair falling over his forehead, and his whole body frozen still.  Roman’s eyes trace his features as he tries to commit everything about the moment to memory so that he can hold it close and treasure it forever, bring the image to mind whenever he pleases.  </p><p>	The spell begins to wear off as Logan leans back, pulling his hand back into his room.  “Roman,” he stammers, just a bit breathless, and all the sudden Roman has something new to try to remember perfectly.  He goes for a smirk, but it comes out as a full, honest smile.</p><p>	“You’re beautiful,” he says, the words coming on a breath, without a thought, as if someone had pulled them from him without his consent.  Logan is still, his mouth still hanging open the slightest bit.  With stuttery movements, he reaches up to adjust his glasses.</p><p>	“You’ve told me that before,” he says, but even Logan is not blind to the way it feels different this time.</p><p>	“You’re beautiful,” Roman repeats, “the most enchanting thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.  And you are so passionate when you talk about the things you love, passionate enough to match me, even, with all my flights of fancy -- yes, we’re passionate about different things, but we’re so much the same, you and I.”  A moment to breath, then; Logan opens his mouth like he’s about to reply but Roman isn’t done, rushing on, “I positively adore the way you look when you talk about science and foreign culture and the stars, even if I don’t always understand.  When I do, though, it’s the most wonderful inspiration, and I find myself building dreams around it almost as much as I dream about you.  I-- I love you, Logan.”  </p><p>	Logan blinks, something fluid and graceful, like a clear stream, running into his shocked expression from earlier and mingling with it until they become one.  “Roman,” he says, his voice soft, “may I kiss you?”</p><p>	“Of course,” Roman says, and just like that, they are pressed together through the bars, which are cold against Roman’s cheeks as he reaches up to thread his hands into Logan’s hair just like he’s been dying to do since the day he met him.  Logan’s lips are warm against his, and there’s a feeling like blooming flowers and blazing fire in Roman’s chest, and in that moment, Roman knows that all his fantasies could <i> never </i> compare to real life.</p><p>	When they break apart, they are both grinning.  “You are enchanting in every way,” Roman says, and the breathless little sigh Logan huffs through his smile is the only proof he needs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Depending on whether y'all are interested and if I feel like writing it there may be a second part where Roman gets caught and learns Logan is the prince when he gets him out of being punished for it</p></blockquote></div></div>
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